


i'm falling for your eyes (but they don't know me yet)

by shirosayas (landfill)



Series: Your Love Is Art (Please Help My Heart) [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill/pseuds/shirosayas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which hoseok's in love with a boy he'd never met. </p><p>or alternatively, another trash soulmate AU that nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm falling for your eyes (but they don't know me yet)

**Author's Note:**

> another trash AU spawned from a convo between me and my [senpai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae) and a tumblr post that I can't quite recall. I still have, like, bazillion of other things to write but well, at least I can cross this one off the list now aYE

Hoseok is five when he first notices the mark on his arm.

 

He remembers stirring at the slip of sunlight passing through the curtains. He remembers rolling out of bed and onto the floor, wrapped in the confines of his blankets as he lands on the ground with a thud that easily knocks him wide awake.

 

He remembers whining; face buried into the cotton as a groan drags from his throat. He remembers limping to the bathroom, a palm rubbing at his back as he pushes a wooden stool against the basin’s cabinet to climb on.

 

He doesn’t remember his face, but he can sort of see the dregs of details here and there. Like his unkempt hair, fluffily floating in the air, flopping around with every lethargic drop of his head.

 

He remembers yawning; stubbornly trying to close his mouth as he desperately tries to squeeze the last of the toothpaste from the flattened tube, pudgy fingers shaking as he applies even more force until it covered the tip of the yellow toothbrush. Now he's satisfied. 

 

He remembers facing the mirror; lips spreading and teeth clenched as he brushes away. And that’s when he saw it.

 

He doesn’t remember touching anything unusual, and he definitely doesn’t remember ever owning paint. But there’s a blob of red that dashes across his cheek and another stroke of green that brushes across his forearm and he frowns. 

 

When he stops brushing his teeth to wash it off, it doesn’t come out. The mark stains against his skin and yet he doesn’t even feel like it’s there. But it is?

 

“Hoseok! Hoseok! Are you up yet?!” his mom frantically calls and distracts him away. He hears hurried footsteps, he hears a mirror of his whines from his brother’s lips in the room next door (“Don’t take my blankie away eomma…”) and he smiles.

 

“You need to buy a new alarm eomma!” he teases and hears her exasperated groan. But then there's a tingle in his palms and he looks, watching as another splattered mark slowly blooms onto his skin and blinks with wonder.

 

"Eomma!" he cries, "My hands are being weird!"

 

Hoseok is five. And that's when he first learns of the word: 'soulmate'.

 

 

 

 

 

Changkyun is five when he first got used to a routine.

 

He remembers walking to school, fingers clutched tightly around the straps of his backpack. He remembers the tall tree always looming, towering near the gate; flits of sunlight flashing across his vision through the layers of leaves.

 

He remembers a hall, he remembers a door, he remembers a table that’s a little bit small.

 

He doesn’t remember the faces that he greeted, nor the faces that he laughed with. He doesn’t remember a lot; there’s too many gaps within his memories, too many things that he missed. So he doesn’t try.

 

He remembers his backpack, still yellow and bright. He remembers a marker (the one he stole from his dad’s office at night), the one he sneaked into class every morning, because even back then, he always had something to write.

 

He remembers scribbling something into his palm, he remembers wriggling restlessly in his seat as he waits for a reply. He remembers that tingle in his hand (he always will), and he remembers a foreign script appearing underneath his own.

 

_“Good morning to you too.”_ it reads and a familiar flood of warmth swells within the front of his chest and the heat of his cheeks.

 

This where the memories fizzles out again for the rest of the day. But he remembers (he always will) a sort of happiness from that day. And the day before that, and the day before that. 

 

He remembers one night. He remembers a flashlight, he remembers giggling in the dark, and he remembers the marker in his hand. He remembers a doodle of a cat, followed by the usual whining: _“He almost clawed me today! Again!”_ And he breaks into a laugh this time, probably a little too loud.

 

He remembers his heart thumping. A breath held against his lungs as the next message comes, and the flashlight shakes in his hand.

 

_“I want… to meet you.”_

 

But that’s when his dad knocks on the door and he panics, dropping the flashlight onto the bathroom floor and squeaks in horror. 

 

“Changkyun? Are you in there? Did you drop something?” his dad calls, worried and he quickly hops off the toilet. He scrambles to hide the flashlight back into the cabinet and throws the marker into a random drawer in the spur of the moment.

 

“I’m okay appa! I didn’t break anything!” he replies, quickly pulling up his sleeves and clutches at the hem tightly in his palms as he tip-toes to open the door. He sees his dad looks down at him questioningly and smiles sheepishly as he’s scooped up into strong arms anyways. 

 

“Try to get some sleep hm? We have an early flight tomorrow,” his dad reminds while carrying him back into his room and he replies with a gentle nod.

 

When he fell to slumber that day, it was with the blanket pushed comfortably onto his chest, it was with a kiss pressed into his forehead and a forgotten message clutched within the curl of his fists. 

 

Changkyun is five. And that’s when he first learns: perhaps, some things just aren’t meant to be. 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoseok is ten when he first notices a void in his life.

 

There’s no longer a small scribble on his hand that greets him every morning. There’s no longer a _“Hwaiting Hyung!”_ that follows his rambles every night.

 

He doesn’t know how it’s possible to miss a presence that might’ve never been there in the first place. He doesn’t know how it’s possible to miss a boy whose face he’d never met. But he does. 

 

Sometimes though (only sometimes) when he’s walking to hagwon, there’s a familiar tingle at the back of his hand again. The tingle that always makes him smile before he even has to check. 

 

Nowadays, it’s not a message that he expects, but little drawings that he keeps to himself when he’s pretending to read his books. They’re silly, mostly nonsensical doodle of things he can’t quite make out, and sometimes things that he sort of can.

 

He remembers something akin to a hot air balloon, atop of a building. He remembers a little window, scribbles of scenery filled at the edges. Sometimes he’ll sees a star, even if at times, it’s a little bizarre. But he’s content with this; content with the little glimpses he’ll get here and now.

 

But today, it’s something else:

 

באשַערט

 

He squints and squirms; rotating his hand this way and that way but it’s no use. An answer he never had is not an answer he can just make. So he waits for the clock to tick away, and pray that the symbols don’t disappear. (At least not until it makes a little sense. Not until it’s clear)

 

And then, after strap of his backpack slides onto his shoulders, he shuffles to the front and hold out his hand (and heart) for the world to see.

 

But his teacher, much to his disappointment, shakes his head when he too, fails to decipher the message. Instead, he’s offered a sympathetic smile, a pat on his shoulder and learns of a country far to the west.

 

“Your soulmate… is very very, far away aren’t they?” his teacher asks and he keeps his head down as he nods; something uncomfortable washing over his chest. Something heavy, almost like a chain. A little feeling he can’t quite explain. 

 

Hoseok is ten. And that’s when he first realises: perhaps, some things just aren’t meant to be.

 

 

 

 

 

Changkyun is ten when he second got used to a routine.

 

He remembers hopping off a car. He remembers waving goodbye as excitedly as he could, just so he could see a glimpse of his dad’s smile as he drove off. After all, the least that he could do is be a good start to the day.

 

He remembers shuffling to class, he remembers keeping himself to a corner. It’s only been a few months, true, but he still feels like a foreigner. Perhaps he still can’t find it in his heart to make this place home. 

 

“Daniel, what are you drawing on your hand?” One of his classmate suddenly asks and he jumps, pulling his arm away from her prying eyes.

 

“N-Nothing,” he replies.

 

She gasps, “Is it a secret love message for your soulmate?!”

 

“What? No! I was just… drawing something.” he blubbers, voice growing quiet, “I haven’t… met my soulmate yet.” 

 

“Aw. Well it’s okay. I haven’t met my soulmate too,” she sighs, “but we talk everyday, so I don’t think it’s going to change much once we’re face to face anyways.”

 

He doesn’t comment, instead he remembers shifting the conversation towards something else. Perhaps it was about the homework due that day; anything so that his mind doesn’t dwell. 

 

(But it does.)

 

He remembers the full moon that night, he remembers the glimpse of light on his palm, he remembers the pen in his hand.

 

He remembers fidgeting, letting his thoughts stray. There’s so much–– too much that he wants to say: _“I’m sorry.” “How are you?”_ _“I miss you.”_

 

_“Do you still remember me?”_

 

But he puts the pen down instead, and retreats to bed with his blanket over his head. It’s okay. It’s better this way. He’s part of a different life now, so let’s keep these feelings at bay. 

 

Changkyun is ten. And that’s when he first realises: trying to forget someone doesn’t mean they no longer exist. 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoseok is twenty when he last got used to a routine.

 

He remembers it even now, as vivid as day. He’ll wake before dawn breaks, and leave without delay. He remembers leaning against the window pane with the headphones snugged on his ears. And (almost) always, he’ll jolt himself awake whenever he’s near.

 

He remembers the people he’ll greet: teachers, friends, acquaintances. Everyone that stayed. Everyone that left. (Especially the ones that was close to his heart).

 

He remembers the studio at night. He remembers reflections: of himself and the clock ticking in the mirror. He remembers all the blood and sweat and tears. (Yes, even those memories are dear).

 

He remembers a haven for his efforts; a place to hide and rest the weariness of the hours away. He remembers the path to take (after all, it’s still the same), right over the corner and past the lamp post (sometimes, it’s almost like a game).

 

“Just on time. Again.” is how Kihyun greets him when he enters, “your drink is already on your table.”

 

But this is where his routine breaks: when he walks over to take his usual spot, noting an unfamiliar decoration that he hadn’t seen before. 

 

“Did you guys change the menu style or something?” He asks, taking a seat; waving a strange notepad at the nearest waiter.

 

“Actually, I think one of our customers forgot that,” Kihyun blinks. “Just leave it there, he’ll probably be back for it eventually.”

 

He remembers humming, placing it back on the table before reaching over to grab his drink. But then his elbow accidentally knocks the notepad over and he quietly yelps, awkwardly reaching down to pick it up.

 

And that’s when he accidentally got a peek at one of the weathered pages. 

 

באשַערט

 

He remembers drawing a breath. He’d seen that somewhere. He knows he has.

 

So he scans the page further. 

 

القدر , באשַערט , 운명

 

_Destiny._

 

“It can’t be…”

 

But it can. Perhaps it can. Because when he turns and looks at this notepad, flipping the pages through and through: there’s a tingle in his hand. And his entire life starts playing in reverse. 

 

Hoseok is twenty. And that’s when he remembers: paint, doodles, and a greeting that once existed every morning. 

 

 

 

 

 

Changkyun is twenty when he first notices the mark on his arm.

 

They call it déjà vu. A sensation akin to reliving a memory in the present. Like a forgotten routine that he once remembers. 

 

He calls it déjà vu. Because that’s the only way he can describe these past months. Every week. Every day. Always happening at the same time. And today isn’t an exception (not yet). So when that clock shifts and a new hour emerge, he only has to sigh at the tingle under his palm.

 

_“Good morning.”_

 

Soon, the cup of coffee in his hand is replaced with a pen, just so he can quickly jot down a reply: “Are your mornings so dull to only have me to say hi to?”

 

_“Yah! I still remember that you’re younger than me, brat.”_

 

This is where he rolls his eyes, a remark waiting at the tip of his pen but already, there’s another tingle that jolts through his fingers. 

 

_“You just made some disrespectful gesture didn’t you?! Show some respect for your elders!”_

 

This is where he can’t fight the smile that weaves onto his lips. Silly perhaps, how easily entertained he’d become nowadays (only because of an exception). 

 

_“You know… you can’t run away from me forever.”_

 

This is where he gets up and prepares to leave for his upcoming class. But not before allowing himself to write one last reply: “Maybe I’m not running.” 

 

_Maybe I’m waiting for you to find me_.

 

And this is where it ends, when he walks outside; the winter air blowing mercilessly against his body. This is where he continues his day as scheduled, but today the plan deviates (today, he can’t escape fate). 

 

_“So if I say I’ve found you. You won’t run away right?”_

 

He blinks in confusion. But before he’s allowed to process the message, he bumps into another body, feet staggering back as he barely maintains a steady grip on his cup. 

 

“Whew–– oh, hi hyung,” he says at recognition, quickly lowering his head in apology. “Sorry, I wasn’t really watching where I was going.” 

 

“I can tell,” Hoseok smiles at him knowingly. “Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you in private. Do you have a minute?”

 

“Um, sure,” he nods, but then a guilty look flashes over his face. “Is this about Jooheon stealing your beer stash? Because I really did try to stop him.”

 

“HE DID WHAT–– I mean… no–– hold on,” Hoseok says, suddenly taking out a pen from his pocket and starts scribbling onto his palm. “Just… something I’ve been meaning to ask you since we’ve met.”

 

Changkyun looks at the older expectantly, but then that familiar sensation tickles his palm again and his heart is already thumping once more. So before Hoseok notices, he darts his eyes downward, sneaking a look and feels his mouth go dry.

 

“ _Will you go out with me?_ ”

 

He blinks at the question, looking up right in time to see Hoseok holding up the front of his palm, every stroke and curves of ink matching his own. 

 

And suddenly everything clicks into place. 

 

Changkyun is twenty. And that’s when he remembers: flashlights, markers, and a boy that once kept him up at night.

 

 

 

“Well?” Hoseok asks and Changkyun can see the older squirming out of nervousness; it makes him smile, distracting him from the growing heat from his own cheeks.

 

“I don’t know,” Changkyun shrugs. “Your handwriting is messy so I can’t read it very well,” the boy teases, laughing at the unamused expression that takes over Hoseok’s face. “But,” he continues, “I think my hearing is _much_ better than my vision, hyung _._ ” Even if the thrumming of his heartbeat is deafening in his own brain.

 

“You’re a brat,” Hoseok grits his teeth, cheeks flushed red. It’s mostly from the cold, he swears, “I said go out with me _damn it_.” But instead of sounding extra annoyed, he’s betrayed by his own face; he really can’t stop grinning. And neither can Changkyun.

 

Changkyun is twenty. Hoseok is twenty three. And that’s when they first learn:

 

 

 

“Well, only since you asked me _so_ nicely.” 

 

 

 

Perhaps some things were always meant to be.


End file.
